


Stock Revolvers

by JimDandy



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Family, M/M, Pre-Canon, Romantic Friendship, Sharing a Bed, Young Dutch van der Linde, Young Hosea Matthews
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:41:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27075145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JimDandy/pseuds/JimDandy
Summary: The bed dipped as Dutch slid in next to him.“I think I’ve earned the bed since some urchin is currently sponging out a river on my couch.” Hosea crossed his arms.“Oh, shut up.” Dutch used his body to scoot Hosea into the wall that backed the small bed until he turned into it,  arms still crossed.--------Light two-shot of a reluctant Hosea welcoming Arthur into the gang.
Relationships: Arthur Morgan & Dutch van der Linde, Hosea Matthews & Arthur Morgan, Hosea Matthews & Dutch van der Linde, Hosea Matthews/Dutch van der Linde
Comments: 8
Kudos: 58
Collections: Newspaper Clippings





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Let's give this a try.

The chair creaked as Hosea tipped it back on two legs to look around the fireplace at the front door of the cabin. With a sigh he fished out his pocket watch. Eight thirty. Dutch was supposed to be back at “Seven on the dot, you'll see Hosea!” As always, seven came and went. He sighed again, letting the chair fall roughly back on all four legs and anxiously drummed against the table top. Nothing was more irritating than lateness, watches were invented for a reason. The rain picked up again outside, ticking against the glass windows, and dripping loudly into the metal pail in Dutch’s bedroom. Hosea had ‘won’ the keys to the place after an interesting night at a poker table in some shithole saloon weeks ago. The cabin was small and aged, but functional.   
  
It was well past ten now, the rain still coming down in an unholy noise. Hosea had arranged himself on the sofa, waiting with arms crossed facing the door. And waiting. Past eleven. And more waiting. His eyelids started to get heavy and he began nodding off, snapping his head back up every time his chin hit his chest. He felt his eyes pull themselves closed again just as a key rattled on the lock. On his feet quicker than he could think, he grabbed for his pistol on the side table. He could hear Dutch’s low voice on the other side of the door, a second before it opened.

“Dutch do you realise what time-……. What the hell is this?” 

“Hosea! I’m surprised you’re still awake.” Dutch stood in the doorway, dark hair soaked and plastered to his face, curling against his neck. His thin moustache sagged as it dripped water into the ever growing pool beneath him. His hands rested on the shoulders of a young boy who looked closer to a drowned rat. “This does make it easier. Arthur this is Hosea- Hosea, Arthur.” Dutch beamed at him, Hosea blinked. 

“Hullo.” The kid mumbled.

“Okay, what is _Arthur_ doing here?” Hosea could feel his own annoyance spit out with every word. 

“He’s with us now.” 

Hosea opened his mouth, snapped it shut, and opened it again.

“No. Dutch. No. We can't-“ he gestured to the boy, shivering in raggedy clothes, his eyes downcast. 

“Now son,” Dutch, wheeling the boy around by the shoulders, shot Hosea a challenging look as they brushed passed. “get yourself dry by the fire and we'll fix you up somethin’ to eat.” He pushed the kid into sitting on the sofa. 

“Great, where am I going to sleep now that he's drenching the damn couch?” 

“Oh hush. You can bunk with me.” Dutch offered with a wave of his hand over his shoulders, fumbling around in the cupboards. Hosea scowled even though sharing Dutch’s room under normal circumstances may have raised his heartrate. “Ah! Stewed beef. That ought to satiate you, my young friend." Hosea watch Dutch open the can and hand it to the kid. Always the showman, Dutch made a production of wrapping the kid in one of Hosea’s blankets, and gave him an affectionate pat on the head. “There you go, my boy.”

“Thank you.” Came another low mumble, as the kid badly tried to hide his enthusiasm for one lousy dented can of stewed beef. Dutch’s hand came up to Hosea’s elbow, as he guided him over to the small table and sat down. Hosea grunted as he sat too, lower back still aching from the countless hours spent waiting in the exact same chair. 

“Now don't look at me like that, old man.” 

“This wasn’t the plan. Get in, fleece a bunch of rich idiots, and be back by seven." He emphasized every word with a finger jabbing at the table like a gavel. "What the hell is the kid doing here?” 

“I told you, Arthur is with us now.” Dutch propped his face in his palm, visibly tired with dark circles under his eyes. Whatever else had happened tonight had taken its toll on him. Hosea thought a few seconds. He wanted to start a fight, wanted to pick Dutch apart until he threw himself fully into the argument Hosea wanted to drag out of him. Yell that he was getting too comfortable in his ability to wing-it and go off script. Instead he wiped a hand over his face with a sigh.

“Dutch…. It doesn't _work_. Think about it. What we’re doing… what we do doesn't _work_ with a kid!” 

“You really are just an old worrier. Trust me on this. You didn’t see the boy in action Hosea, must’ve pick-pocketed fourteen people in the dance hall tonight. Nobody would have been the wiser, until he accidently pulled a chained pocket watch. The sheriff did not take to kindly to that!” Dutch laughed at the last part, slapping the table. 

“So he’s an idiot is what you’re meaning to say.” It was a statement. Hosea felt like he was saying goodbye to all of his carefully hatched plans, schemes he and Dutch had been, just days ago, shoulder-to-shoulder drawing out every last finite detail to. For-sure marks, a grandiose traveling theatre con, a defunct bar they were going to ‘re-open’. He was sick to his stomach, prickly numbing feelings in waves over his shoulders. Towing around a kid who was bound to get in the way, they were going to get themselves killed or arrested. He thought of terrible outcomes, of Dutch with a bullet hole through his forehead, and felt even more ill. 

There likely wasn’t any talking him out of this, Dutch always got his way. 

“Hosea, be smart about thi-“ The empty tin can clattered to the floor, it rolled lazily over to the table, chucking out bits of juice and beef strings. Hosea stopped it with his foot. The kid, half hanging over the arm rest, was passed out, huffing small breaths that disturbed his drying hair. Dutch chuckled and reached out to cover Hosea’s hand. “Let’s let dear Arthur here get some sleep.” 

Hosea let himself be pulled again, this time into Dutch’s bedroom, the thin door closed and latched softly. Hosea threw himself down on the bed, kicking off his boots. Dutch added another log to the fire. 

“We just going to leave him out there?” 

“What’s he gonna do, crawl through the fire place?” Hosea held Dutch’s stare for a long moment before Dutch began peeling off his soaked clothes. 

“He’s big enough to get through the door easy enough.”

“And we’d be fools if he was able to-“ He paused as he struggled with pulling his half-unbuttoned shirt over his head, too tired to have just unbuttoned it the rest of the way. Hosea eyed him carefully, he could feel his heart beat pick up. The shirt was finally thrown with a wet slap down in front of the fire. “-able to bust down our door and murder us in here with all our guns. Plus there isn't much in the way of valuables out there, so if he decided to cut it and run with the rest of the stewed beef, who cares.

“In any case, you didn’t see the kid in action. Chatting folks up and robbing them blind. I even let him steal from me. Didn’t feel a thing. He’s got talent, it just needs shaping.” 

Hosea let out another rough sigh and turned away as Dutch finished changing. It wasn't that he didn't want to watch- he would have most certainly liked to- it was the principle of the thing, and Dutch knew it. Dutch was somewhat aware of Hosea’s inclinations towards him, and they had even stumbled drunkenly into bed together a time or two over the last year as Dutch realised it. But what was a scandalous night of intoxicated fun for Dutch was an accepted night of pleasurable pain for Hosea. He kept his distance and didn't let his feelings colour their professional relationship. They worked too well as a team, and Hosea wouldn't let silly emotions get the better of him. So when they could, they had separate rooms, and when they couldn’t one of them took the floor. 

The bed dipped as Dutch slid in next to him. 

“I think I’ve earned the bed since some urchin is currently sponging out a river on my couch.” Hosea crossed his arms.

“Oh, shut up.” Dutch used his body to scoot Hosea into the wall that backed the small bed until he turned into it, arms still crossed. “I don't want to sleep next to the damn bucket and get dripped on all night. Besides,” He felt Dutch’s warm breath on the back of his neck, moustache tickling just behind his ear. “don’t you want me to keep you warm?” Even half asleep, Dutch knew how to be an insufferable flirt. 

“Hey,” Hosea swallowed, his entire body pulsing and he yelled internally for it to knock it off. “Stop trying to butter me up. I ain't happy about this.” Dutch puffed out a sigh that flitted across Hosea’s cheek. 

“Alright, alright. I’ll listen to your gripes in the morning.” His hand waved in the air, dismissing any further conversation on the matter tonight. Hosea felt his mouth screw up in a fresh scowl. He was not shy, nor usually was he easily cowed. There was just something about Dutch. The way he spoke, his resolute confidence that could come off as brash if you weren’t paying enough attention. He was sharp, quick on his feet, and endlessly charming. He could probably talk a snake-oil-salesman into bed. Against better judgment, he caught himself thinking back to months ago when they had been sprawled out on the floor of some dingy hotel, drunk off a case of stolen brandy and laughing at their increasingly stupid plans for a back-alley deal. Hosea couldn't even remember the specifics to the job any longer. He just remembered Dutch suddenly straddling him, kissing him roughly and laughing together. Hosea had wanted it, badly and for so long. Dutch was smart, he often shot Hosea a wicked grin as he would unbutton his shirt, or made a show of eating something in a particularly audacious manner. Afterwards, Dutch had acted as if everything were perfectly normal. Still teasing, still riling Hosea up. Hosea, playing off of Dutch, went about it the same way. It was just a drunken harmless night. Just some fun. Just sleeping with your best friend. Nothing to get heated about. 

“You’re an ass, and you’re going to get us both killed.” 

“I love you too, Hosea.” Muttered Dutch with a playful jab in Hosea’s side. He turned around then to face Dutch, propping himself on one elbow to stare down at him. Dutch’s eyes were bleary, and kept fluttering shut. 

“Keeping this kid….. it’s a mistake. I won’t forgive you if you get yourself killed. Not easily, anyway.” 

“Go to sleep.” Dutch slurred as a hand came up to pat at Hosea’s cheek. 

“I won’t.” 

“Alright, you won’t.” The hand applied a gentle pressure tugging Hosea down. He allowed himself to be pulled in, settling his face in Dutch’s neck. His arm was pulled over Dutch’s waist, and a hand rested on his hair. “Now, sleep.” 

“……’Night, Dutch.” He got a half grunt in return, and almost immediately felt Dutch’s breath even out. Though his head was racing, and he tried to keep himself angry, he found himself drifting off to the steady sound of Dutch’s heartbeat.   



	2. Chapter 2

It had been a week, and Hosea worrying himself sick had died down into just simple dislike for the kid. They were leaving the cabin, and all those endless nights of planning, behind. Time wasted for money that was never going to come in. Dutch kept regurgitating the tried and tested cons with what he called the “added bonus” of Arthur now being part of the overall schemes. None of them made much sense, and after Hosea’s initial hope that Arthur would have run off the first night proved fruitless, he began thinking of unfortunately common and unpreventable tragedies befalling the kid. “Dutch I just don’t know, he was behind the horse and it just kicked him, poor kid.” Or “Gee, we knew camping was dangerous but who could have predicted a bear attack.” He let his mind plot it out, even the sillier ones, just to give himself peace. 

He would never actually go through with any of them, much to his dismay, it would absolutely break Dutch’s heart. The pair were immediately sewn together at the hip. Dutch animatedly guiding and teaching the kid this and that. Arthur hanging on every word. Hosea quickly understood he was feeling pangs of jealousy every time he looked over to see Arthur and Dutch laughing together, or Dutch regaling the kid with one of his and Hosea’s many successful jobs. He knew it was foolish to be jealous of a fourteen year old boy, but Dutch was so often taken to tunnel vision when he set his mind to something, and right now that something was not Hosea. 

At Dutch’s insistence they packed up to move on from the cabin and stop at a decent sized boom town 14 miles out. Hosea’s protests were outright ignored. He was intent on getting Arthur supplies, and figured after his run-in with the sheriff nearby, moving on was in their best interest. They left just before dawn, Arthur on the back of Dutch’s stocky grey mare, riding off in a gallop. 

They arrived just before two in the afternoon. Hosea waited for Dutch and the kid a few doors over from the tailor, in front of the apothecary. He spun a fanciful story, convincing the wealthier patrons that passed him that he was an oil prospector who just struck it rich and was robbed on the road to Chicago. If they helped get him a horse, he would make sure they were counted as partial investors, and to expect checks as soon as next year. He even went so far as to pull a small ledger from his pocket, diligently taking down names and donation amounts. He made a particularly large fuss when an elderly woman had given him twelve dollars, falling to his knees and kissing her hands. The clasp on her gold and emerald bracelet unlatching with practiced ease, falling into his coat sleeve. He commented on her, ahem, exquisite beauty. She flushed and slapped at his hands playfully, Hosea was a charmer. Her husband, exiting the apothecary, immediately ushered her away scolding. Hosea pocketed the bracelet, and decided not to linger.

Twenty minutes later, he had a new –well, it was old, and very cheap- horse and saddle for the kid. Dutch would be proud, he hoped. He popped in to the tailor to tell them to meet him out of town a ways when they were done, and bring his horse with them. He didn't even allow questions before making a hasty exit.

He enjoyed a lazy late lunch, an apple and a few slices of bread with honey, a book propped on his knees, until Dutch and the kid rode in. Instead of riding on Hosea’s horse Goldenrod, Arthur still sat behind Dutch. A few purchased parcels strapped to Goldie’s saddle.

“Look at Arthur, Hosea.” Dutch began as they dismounted. “Shines up like a new penny. Gonna start passing him off as my son, think it'll make for a pretty decent cover. Make us seem less suspicious.” 

“Your son? You aren’t old enough. ” Hosea did not look up from his book.

“You are, though. And there is a slight bit more resemblance between you two.” At this, Hosea scoffed.

“I’m not calling him my son.”

“Our son, then.”

“Our…..I don’t recall asking your daddy for your lousy hand.” Hosea clapped his book shut. Dutch frowned at him, this topic was a dicey one. Though Dutch had never really known his father, he idolized him. Hosea knew the exact wrong buttons to push. Maybe they would finally have the fight Hosea had been itching for.

“And thankfully, you never will, and he'll never know the type of lowlife miscreant his son chooses to share a bed with.” Hosea scowled, Dutch was just as good at button-pushing. He heard Arthur stifle a laugh. He hadn’t spoken more than a handful of words to the kid, and not for the others lack of trying. At the cabin, if Arthur sat down next to him, Hosea got up and left the room. If he was out on the porch enjoying a smoke and the kid joined him, Hosea went back inside. 

“Something funny to you, boy?” 

“Aw, nothin’ really.” Arthur rested his thumbs in the loops of his new suspenders. “Jus’ watchin’a couple’a old jackasses brayin’ at each other.” There was a momentary pause, then Dutch cried out laughing. Hosea looked Arthur over properly for the first time. Dutch had bought him new clothes, a bath, and a haircut. Arthur no longer looked like he had been rolling in mud and shit all his life. He really did look shined up, like…. Like one of them. Dutch had dressed him up simply, but smart- Plain shirt, grey silk and cotton vest, dark blue overcoat. Hosea could start to see the hint of some of Dutch’s thought processes, and supposed he could see the kid running jobs- Not that Hosea would admit it to Dutch. The dozen or so times they had spoken the last few days, it seemed to end with bickering about the kid. 

“New horse?” Dutch finally asked, amusement from Arthur’s insult still in his eyes. He walked over to pat the horses neck.

“Figured if the kid was going to stick around.” He gestured to the horse. “Or if he needed a quick get away incase I decide to strangle him in his sleep.” Arthur, who had been looking rather pleased with himself, let his head fall, eyes glued to his boots, and his feet began to shuffle around dirt piles. Hosea stood up finally, dusting himself off. 

“I ain’t planned on leavin’.” Arthur mumbled, more to himself, but just loud enough to hear. 

“I don't much give a damn.” 

“Hosea, be nice.” Dutch let out a frustrated sigh, scratching the horses ears. 

“Bought him a horse, didn’t I?” Exasperated, Hosea resisted the urge to throw his arms up and roll his eyes. This already wasn't going the way he wanted it to. “Bought a saddle too, which cost more than the damn horse, but the way.” He added the last part under his breath. “I rode him out here, made sure he doesn’t buck or anything. He’s decent, old, maybe not as fast as Goldie and The Baroness, but solid.” 

“Fine. Fine. I'll pretend you're being nice and there's no ulterior motive. Arthur, why don't you come over and meet…?” He motioned for Arthur. 

“Figured the kid could name him. Wasn't given one when I bought him. No papers.” Arthur brushed past Hosea at Dutch’s call, knocking into his arm slightly as he went by. Hosea frowned at the contact. Uncoordinated little shit. 

“He really…. He really mine?” There was such a sad hopefulness in the kids voice, Hosea almost felt a smile threaten the corners of his mouth. Almost. Again, Hosea chose to say nothing. Just nodded when the kid finally looked up at him.

It took an hour to transfer the kids few meager belongings- photographs, an old and worn blanket, new clothes, and black hat- to his new horse, who was named North Wind, with Ducth’s help. Dutch went over some of the basics, how to make sure the saddle was secure, how to adjust the stirrups, how to sit properly, how to ride properly. Arthur liked horses, he said, and had been on quite a few, just never ridden one by himself. 

Once settled, the sun hanging low in the late afternoon sky, they took back to the road. Dutch wanted to camp closer to the state line, and continue west in the morning. Arthur rode slow behind them, and Hosea knew it meant it would be close to midnight when they finally stopped. He huffed and called up to Dutch.

“Think I’ll go pick us a spot. Get it set up.” Dutch considered this a moment. 

“No, you stay with Arthur. I’ll go pick the camp and circle back once it’s all ready. Besides, last camp I let you choose flooded us out, remember?” Dutch smirked at Hosea. 

“Yeah, but I made it up to you with a cabin and a real bed.” 

“That I, out of the kindness of my own heart, had to share-“ 

“Get out of here already!” Hosea shouted, waving Dutch away. “I’ll babysit and keep the kid on his horse.” 

“I’ll be expecting both of you there. “ Dutch threatened and Hosea nodded. He held Hosea’s stare a few seconds longer, before he spurred The Baroness into a full gallop and took off out of sight. 

Arthur glanced at Hosea, and tried to maneuver his horse to ride alongside Goldie. He struggled a bit with the reigns, too jerky with his movements, making North Wind veer a little too sharply. 

“Quit that.” Hosea scolded, pulling his own reigns so tight, Goldenrod reared as Arthur’s horse darted oddly in front of her. 

“Sorry!” Arthur yelled as he tried correcting the movement. 

“Kid, kid, stop.” Arthur dropped the reigns, holding his hands up like he was being held at gunpoint. Hosea soothed Goldie, and pulled her along side Arthur’s horse. “Calm down, I ain’t going to hit you.” Arthur looked at him skeptically. “I ain’t going to hit you, right now.” He amended, which earned a small laugh. 

“Do you see how I’m holding Goldie? Relaxed, gently.” He gave Arthur directions, showing him how to use his legs and the reigns together. “ See?” He demonstrated, pulling away, riding out a few steps, and back a few times. 

“Like this?” Arthur copied every movement, beat for beat, down to the subtle clicks Hosea wasn’t even aware he was doing until he heard them from Arthur’s mouth, and returned his horse to walk in step along side Hosea. 

“Yeah, good job.” He said before thinking, and watched the kid light up. “Or, uh. Keep practicing. You’ll get it eventually.” Hosea scowled and pulled away, trotting ahead of Arthur. 

“Thanks. An’ for the horse too. Ain’t nobody ever… ya’know… done nothin’ like that for me ‘afore, an you don’ even like me.” 

“I didn’t do it for you kid. I did it for Dutch.” 

“Ain’t stupid, I can see that. Jus’ thanks all the same.” 

“Sure don’t sound like you ‘ain’t stupid’.” Hosea mocked his heavy accent. 

“Man, you really is as big of a stuffy prick as Dutch says.” Arthur spit out and Hosea rounded on him. The cheeky bastard was grinning. He was holding something in his hand, tossed it and re-caught it as Hosea slowed his horse. It glinted gold and green as he tossed it again.

“How did you- when did you-“ Hosea felt in his pocket for the bracelet he stole off of the old woman. There was nothing but air and bits of lint. “When you bumped into me earlier…” 

“Coat was hangin’ funny on one side. Knew you had’t have somethin’ in there. Knew you wouldn't notice neither.” Hosea was speechless. He felt a sudden warmth in his chest, a spark off fondness. He smiled a little, then laughed. 

“Alright kid…. Arthur. And keep it I guess, you earned it, thieving off an old fool.” Arthur nodded his head, grinning ear to ear. Maybe the kid wasn’t so bad.

Dutch found them on the road hours after dark and led them to the camp he had set up. Dutch tended the fire that had died down on his ride out to collect them, while Hosea tied the horses up and watered them. Arthur stood next to him, ratty blanket slung over his shoulder, tiredly watching Hosea give Goldie a quick brush and an apple from his saddle bag. He checked her legs and gave her a pat, before pulling his bedroll down. He eyed Arthur suspiciously as he walked past him, but Arthur only followed behind silently. 

“You aiming to knife me in the back?” Hosea asked over his shoulder and Arthur paused.

“Thought ‘bout it a mite bit on the road, but I’m too tired now.” Arthur joked, rubbed at his eyes, and stifled a yawn. He continued to follow Hosea to the now roaring fire, and passed out before Hosea had even finished laying out his own bedroll. 

“Wish I could still fall into a graceless heap and sleep like that.” Hosea muttered as he sat down, pulling a cigarette from his breast pocket. He suddenly felt Dutch’s hand on his shoulder. Dutch used him to balance as he sat himself next to Hosea, making sure their legs touched as he settled. Hosea stared for a moment at their thighs, flush against one another, and felt warmth drop into his stomach. They had not been this close in days, the rain had stopped after that first night Arthur joined them, and they mutually agreed to trade off the bed and floor of Dutch’s room. More out of spite, since all they could do was bicker. Hosea looked away, exhaling the smoke out of the side of his mouth. 

“What do you want, Dutch?” Dutch gave a snort. 

“Noticed he was following you around when you got here.” Hosea said nothing, just took another long drag of his cigarette. “I don't like this quiet version of you, you're boring me to tears, Hosea. Other than arguing…. I, I just I feel like I’m losing you, somehow.” 

“Don’t pin this on me, I didn't make the decision to drag a fourteen year old boy into an illegal enterprise. You made that choice for both of us, and now I just need time to adjust. And you're a low-down rotten bastard if you think I didn't know you were testing me today. I wasn’t planning on running out on you, I bought Arthur the damn horse hoping to impress you.” Dutch rested his hand on Hosea’s knee, rings glinting in the firelight. Hosea wished he was drunk out of his mind, wanted the boldness that came with the bliss of not having to overthink everything. He wanted to pull Dutch to the ground and kiss him until he was breathless and dizzy, wanted to feel the way those ringed fingers threaded through his hair. Dutch’s dark eyes half lidded and amused, dark hair splashed against a pillow. How could he ever think he would leave him? Did he really think just because they were arguing, Hosea didn't……… didn’t love him anymore?

“Do you want me to say sorry?” 

“No, you never mean it.” Hosea threw the last bit of his cigarette into the fire, and laid down. “I’m going to sleep. You can stay, I won't stop you.” He turned towards the fire, his back to Dutch. After a few minutes of silence, he felt Dutch lay down too, pressing his back against Hosea’s for warmth, and pulled a blanket over them both.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wanted to maybe set this up to tie in to the Ten-Cent storyline.

**Author's Note:**

> I like to write casual fluffish pining pieces more than anything so here we go. Can be related to previous works, or not.


End file.
